


Post-Chimera Smut

by DarlaBlack



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s07e16 Chimera (X-Files), F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 05:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlaBlack/pseuds/DarlaBlack
Summary: This is filthy and plotless and I didn’t even bother giving it a proper title. I have no justification, except that poor Scully deserved to get some after so many hours in that shitty apartment doing surveillance alone.





	Post-Chimera Smut

She said she wanted a long bath and a long sleep, so he doesn’t go to her apartment right away. He waits until the next morning, and he waits until after nine. He knocks at 9:23 and she answers in silk pajamas, hair still fluffy from sleep. She narrows her eyes at him. Still kinda mad, he thinks.

“Hey,” she says and steps back so he can enter. “How was your case? Sorry I didn’t get out there to do that autopsy.” She yawns.

He shrugs. “Sorry you had to stare at the seemy underbelly of DC alone.” Scully groans and walks toward the couch. He closes the door and follows her. “But hey,” he says. “I brought you something.”

At this, she turns to him and her eyebrows go up. She loves presents. “Yeah? It’s nothing weird, is it?”

Mulder grins, brings the small bag from behind his back. “Strawberry croissant.”

“For me?” She smiles and tries to take the bag from him, but he holds it back.

“But first,” he says, and he reaches his other hand, his left hand, to the waist of her pajamas and pulls her to him. He takes her mouth with his. He tangles his fingers in the silk of her top, feels the heat of her skin beneath it. He is in boots and she is in bare feet and he can hardly reach her so far down, so he drops the pastry to the coffee table and scoops her up in both arms. Her legs come around him without even thinking. He drops to the couch so he can touch her better, cupping her face first, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs, tasting her tongue and her lips, before sliding his hands back down to find the hem of her top. He thinks of the cheating husband and of the housewife so desperate to please. And he thinks of his Scully, this Scully with her tongue down his throat, who grabs local law enforcement by the balls and makes him go home when she doesn’t want to cuddle after.

She squeezes his hips with her knees, grinds against his denim-clad thigh. “Did you miss me?” He asks, and she grinds again.

“No,” she says, tugging at his shirt. “Can I have my croissant now?” She asks.

“No,” he says, and pulls her own top off before she can get at his. He flips her onto her back and holds her arms above her head with one hand while he drags the other down her body, flat-palmed, from sternum to mons, over her silk pajama bottoms. She writhes and lifts her hips. She whimpers. He smirks.

“Mulder,” she whines, but he is taking her nipple in his mouth, still holding her hands away from him.

“Hmm,” he murmurs against her breast.

She hooks her feet under his ass and drags him up to her, kisses his mouth again, lifts her hips to press against his.

“Mulder,” she says again, and he lifts his eyes to look at her. Her cheeks, neck, and chest are pink with want, her nipples taut, and she’s breathing heavy. He aches for her, can smell her form here. “I took my long bath last night,” she says.

He feels another jolt of arousal. “Oh yeah?”

She bites her lip and nods. “You know what I did?”

He groans and kisses her, he can’t help it. “What?” He says against her lips.

“I made myself come,” she whispers. “Four times.”

His head falls against her chest. “Jesus, Scully.”

“And I thought of you.” She lifts her hips again, and this time he can’t hold back any more. He lets go of her hands so he can sit back to yank her bottoms off in one motion. She’s naked before him, flushed and smiling and already pulling on his clothes. He lets her strip off his shirt, but then he holds her legs apart with one hand on each thigh, spread open before him, while she makes little circles with her hips. He watches before he touches, mesmerized, smiling, so happy to be home, and he can  _see_  how wet she is. It… does things to him.

“Fuck,” he says before his fingers trail up to that place he can’t look away from. “Four times?” He asks her. She’s biting her lip, nodding, reaching to tug at the button of his jeans. The fingers of his right hand find the prize; he slides just his middle finger in first, groaning as she frees him from his jeans. He bends down, takes her mouth again as she bucks against his finger and makes little “ah, ah, fuck” sounds. “Maybe you didn’t miss me,” he murmurs, and she smiles, dizzy with wanting but still sly. “But I missed you. And I’m gonna make you come at least  _five_  more times.”

She laughs and drags his mouth down to hers again. “You promise?”

He does.


End file.
